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The Hialmar Formula


Hialmar

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PREFACE

Earlier today, Arpeejay, the pensées of whom I gladly listen to, analysed the way he often write stories.

It became obvious, that many of my stories follow a formula, too. I decided to make fun of my stories in another of them.

There is a place for gravity, regarding certain matters, but life become boring, if we take everyday things too seriously.

 

The Hialmar Formula

He had been afraid of the Badboys since he began secondary school. As in so many other schools across the country, the male pupils aged 14-19 were rather evenly divided in Poshboys, Badboys and Normies. Wherever and whenever a bunch of several years older Badboys stood clustered in the schoolyard or in the school hallways, he walked in semi-circles to avoid them, or took an entirely different route to his lecture room. When he had reached the age of 14, his former circle of friends had split: Some had taken up Poshboy style, some had remained average, and only a few of his former friends had become Badboys, probably in an attempt to rebel against their parents. He hadn't been able to afford the style of the Poshboys, and the mere thought of becoming a Badboy was unthinkable to him, and filled him with revulsion and shame.

Thin and frail, he had joined a gym in the later part of Upper Secondary, but never achieved much. During university days, he now and then encountered adult Badboys who worked as bouncers or guards, but the style was rarely seen among the students themselves.

It was years later. He had left university a few years ago, and was on his way home from a humdrum job, that payed the rent, when he found himself at a bus stop in one of the allegedly bad parts of the city. The bus was late, and he was standing at his usual bus stop. He could see a group of muscular Badboys approaching, the youngest of them perhaps freshly out of Upper Secondary, the oldest of them probably over 30, and sporting a tattoo from the armed forces. His cheeks burned, when he reluctantly admitted to himself, how dangerously handsome they looked, and a part of himself, which he didn't want to acknowledge, stirred alarmingly in his gut.

"Those shoulders! That bull-neck!", he thought.

What happened next, happened too fast for him to react and take every detail in: A black van stopped at the bus stop, and the big Badboys dragged him into the van. There was nothing he could do to stop them, because of their impressive and overwhelming strength. He could feel a sting in his arm, and then everything went black.

When he awoke, he was tied to something resembling a dentist's chair. Leather straps held his hands and legs in place, and he was naked and vulnerable. The doors opened. A tall Badboy, probably above 2 metres, entered and stood in front of him with his legs wide apart, and with his beefy arms crossed in front of his massive and powerful chest. Silently, the Badboy leaned over his captive, and fastened instruments at his captive's temples. Then he opened his mouth, and spoke:

"Me and me mates in the Wolf-and-Bull Bunch are the biggest Badboys in town. You will join us, Normie."

"Why do you think, I would ever join you?"

"I like, that you talk back. You've got guts under that Normie surface. As for your question, your dick betrays you."

He didn't have to watch it. He could feel, how hard he was in the presence of the looming powerhouse of a Badboy. There was an arrogant and tough-looking smirk in the Badboy's face, but his eyes had a glint of amused mischief. Then, the Badboy pressed the button.

The chair moved backwards into a dark metallic chamber, and the gate in front of him closed like an iris. He was inside the metallic chamber, like a foetus in a womb, preparing for birth into a new and entirely different life. A whirring and buzzing noise increased. He felt dizzy, weightless, and then ... THE PROTOCOL began its relentless re-programming of his DNA and mind. He tried to resist. He screamed in fear, but when the feeling of GROWTH began to stream through his muscles, his resistance broke down, and his mind snapped. Out of the blank state of his mind, his new self was emerging: The confident, cocky and posturing Badboy he had so long repressed. THE PROTOCOL caused his body to adapt. His bicepses grew into croquet balls ... galia melons ... volley balls ... His pecs into IMMENSE and powerful MOUNDS of muscle. The feeling of his shoulders' increasing size, firmness and brawn drove him crazy. His legs ... Uh! Those calves! His traps and his bull-neck throbbed of power, and his entire physical presence felt ENGORGED by strength. Unrestrained! Unlimited! Indomitable!

Virility itself flowed through his veins, and he felt ready to join The Wolf-and-Bull Bunch.

YES! The Wolf-and-Bull Bunch!

The bunch of biggest Badboys in town!

He and his new mates!

The biggest there is!

The biggest there is!

THE BIGGEST ... 

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7 hours ago, jtchef said:

Awesome start!! I can't wait to read more ??????????

Sorry this is all. It is a short story and a parody of my usual style. When I think about it, I might write another story, which takes place in the same literary universe, at some point in the future. As some of you may have noticed, dystopian sci-fi with social commentary is a setting I return to now and again.

I left out most details about the Badboy subculture's (and their Poshboy opposition's) musical taste, sense of style and haircuts, since I believe that every reader will project his (or her) own imagination on them. This is to the better, because if I had invented all details about these imaginary (future?) subcultures, it wouldn't have suited all readers' preferences. It would be interesting to hear, how each reader imagine Badboy music, haircuts, way to dress and supposed shared values. I will not reveal how I imagine them myself, until many of you have written how you imagined them to be when you read the story. Actually, I didn't have a clear picture of all details of Badboy subculture when I wrote the story.

Youth subcultures in my corner of the world usually divided teenagers and those in their early 20s into three groups from the early 1940s until the late 1990s: Average kids and two usually opposed (but generationally changing) groups. That pattern broke down about 20 years ago, since when several old and new sub-cultures live side by side simultaneously. At the same time, teenagers and twenty-somethings today more seldomly show their musical taste by the way they dress. I wonder if we had more fun in the 1980s and 1990s? Unlike the general situation in the past, today people age with their subculture: You'll see conventions of rockers ranging in age from 15 to 80 and punk concerts with an audience ranging from 16 to 60, which is rather amusing.

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